


Time is Quite the Killer When You're Left Behind

by Sivictis



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23969140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivictis/pseuds/Sivictis
Summary: Snapshots of Garrosh and his encounters with Thrall in different timelines. Moments of how they keep splitting apart and coming together again in a universe that laughs at them without mercy and without end.
Relationships: Garrosh Hellscream/Thrall
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. In this universe

When Garrosh first arrived in Orgrimmar, he was in awe of the bustling crowds of people, the height of the city’s structures, and the hum of engines and rumble of rare mounts all in one place. 

There was also laughter off in the distance, where children poked fun of new adventurers who, like himself, visited Orgrimmar for the first time ever. They laughed because there was so much in the city and it was so easy to get lost. It wasn’t rare that an adventurer followed their map and ended up on the wrong level of the city entirely. 

When he and Thrall made it Grommash Hold, the height of it towered above all. The namesake was not lost to Garrosh. 

When he turned to Thrall, he saw mirth in his eyes, too. There was also a hint of pride in it, and Garrosh looked away before his thoughts could linger.

“What are you looking at?” Garrosh asked. He felt his cheeks burn.

Thrall laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t help it,” he said.


	2. and in every other iteration

The taste of coffee was bitter, as it always had been. Garrosh took another sip, anyway, glancing from the newspaper in his hand to front door of the coffee shop.

It was pouring rain outside, and he was only one of the few occupants at the location. Piano music was being played by the shop owner’s son. It wasn’t Garrosh’s favorite type of music. Perhaps it would’ve been in another universe, but not this one. Garrosh likened himself to be more of a fan of rock and metal. Perhaps Metallica.

Most people stayed at home during this weather, but Garrosh rather enjoyed it. The constant sound of rain pelting against glass windows and the occasional crack of thunder saved him from his racing thoughts that could never be silenced.

It was the year 2005, and he was at the Lion’s Pride Cafe. It was exactly 2:10 p.m. and the person who he promised to meet here was late.

Typically, Garrosh didn’t have the patience for this. He had other things with which to occupy his time. There was work to be done, feats of engineering to best, a city to rebuild after a natural disaster. But one of his colleagues, Kairoz, insisted that he met this person. Something about a scientific experiment.

The front door opened, the bell on top of it rung.

Garrosh wasn’t given a description of the person he was to meet, only a some vague ramblings about how he would know once he saw them. Something about the new guest immediately sparked his interest. He had bags under his eyes, had his glasses were clipped onto his rumpled white shirt, and looked like he rushed to the cafe after shoving all his notes in his khaki suitcase. Unremarkable, really. But there was something about him.

The guest shook the water off his umbrella and put it in the metal basket beside the door. His eyes searched the cafe and landed on Garrosh. He did not say anything.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Garrosh broke eye contact.

“What are you looking at?” Garrosh asked. He felt his cheeks burn.

The stranger chuckled as he made his way to Garrosh’s table. He opened his suitcase, revealing a bunch of notes and algorithms. Countless hours spent alongside Kairoz allowed him to make sense of the very surface of it. It looked like it was about the existence of different universes.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” the stranger said.


	3. i loved you

On the other side of the door, Thrall was unconscious and recovering in a healing tank. The battle between them seemed to have lasted a lifetime. Sith versus Jedi. The Dark side versus the Light side of the Force. 

But Garrosh learned a long time ago that there was no Dark or Light side. There was just the unrelenting Force and the universe it resided within that liked to make fun of him and his best friend, his brother-in-arms, his mentor, his… whoever he was, Garrosh didn’t know anymore. 

He wondered if – when – Thrall woke up, he would remember him in this timeline and the previous ones. It was an outlandish theory, really. But Garrosh thought that if the Force was so finicky, then perhaps the universe itself was like that as well. Sometimes, Garrosh would have visions of the past and future that came to him in dreams and nightmares.

It got so bad and confusing that when no Jedi at the Temple could understand him, he went on his own journey to find answers. 

A few Sith holocron discoveries later, he was labelled as a traitor of the Jedi. Thrall, who was the only one who had always believed in him despite everything, was the person assigned to track him down. 

Their battle was a painful one, and Garrosh never knew Thrall had it in him to conjure – even if accidentally – Force lightning. There was so much potential there, Garrosh knew, however, he also knew that Thrall was just as stubborn as himself and would not so easily succumb to the Dark Side.

Garrosh glanced at his timing device, which flickered in and out of commission on his damaged prosthetic arm. Thrall always knew where to cut deep, after all. 

In about 10 standard seconds, Thrall would wake up and ask him a plethora of questions. Because of course he would. The hostility would still be there, but it would be muted by the shock of how Garrosh saved his life. Garrosh simply had a feeling that such a chain of events would happen.

Garrosh walked towards the door, knocked twice, and opened it. He was greeted by the sight of Thrall just staring at him, mouth agape and trying to form words that the universe would never let him say. 

“What are you looking at?” Garrosh asked, leaning against the door frame. 

“Sorry,” Thrall began. He knitted his eyebrows together. “Sorry–” he tried again.

“Sorry, Wh–”

Garrosh’s eyes narrowed.

There was something so achingly familiar about this exchange of words. He wondered if his theory held some semblance of truth after all.

Thrall was calling for help, and Garrosh wanted to say something – anything to acknowledge what might be going on. But as much as Garrosh tried, his tongue felt like lead and his head started to spin. 

This was it. This was when they would diverge again. Just like in his visions. And Thrall’s next words would be –

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” Thrall choked out.


	4. but neither of us knew

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

None of them were supposed to be here, as it was neither allowed by the law nor the rest of the abiding society. In this universe, beings were assigned an occupation once they were created, and to stray away from that meant deactivation.

Group gatherings such as these to discuss and talk away from cameras and eyes were considered to be heinous.

He was never supposed to question the system or the difference in castes and why things were how they were. But something happened to his programming, and he began to wonder if other beings experienced it as well.

Discussing the potential of a new world were beings weren’t bound by a given destiny was a dangerous way to occupy one’s time. However, Garrosh felt that he had to do something. Why must the world and all of its occupants be controlled by a select few? The few who never knew what it was like to suffer, to see the ones you cared about perish and self-deactivate because they believed the universe had no “use” for them anymore?

If destiny was real and inevitable, then why allow a change in programming in the first place?  
  
As the group discussion continued in low whispers and hand signs, Garrosh noticed a slight movement from the corner of his eye. The stranger jolted before doing his best to pretend he wasn’t aware of what might be going on.

But Garrosh did not want to take any chances. After making an excuse about needing to take a break, he walked past the stranger before quickly turning back around, grabbing the stranger by the shoulders, and demanding an answer.

“What are you looking at?” Garrosh whispered.

The stranger’s eyes widened, and Garrosh wondered if he was curious about having his own thought, too. 

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” the stranger replied.


	5. until it was too late

As they duked it out in Mak’gora, Garrosh couldn’t help the rush of memories that suddenly occupied his mind.

He remembered being sickly and unwanted and looked down upon. He remembered wishing to be in any other universe aside from this one. He remembered thinking how ironic it was that when he did visit another universe, the same chain of events happened again anyway.

He remembered sitting alone on this very grassy hill in Nagrand, daydreaming of what his ideal life would be like if he managed to survive long enough.

But most of all, he remembered the time when he first arrived in Orgrimmar.

Garrosh thought of the bustling crowds of people, the city’s grand structures, and the hum of engines and rumble of rare mounts all in one place.

He recalled the laughter off in the distance as well. People good-naturally poked fun of new visitors to the city as they tried to make sense of it all.

He remembered that when he first saw Grommash Hold, there was mirth and pride in Thrall’s eyes. 

Such sentiments were nonexistent now.

As they fought each other, words that could never be taken back were uttered. In the end, Thrall won the day.

“What are you looking at?” Garrosh gritted out as Thrall looked at him. The latter’s expression was unreadable.

Thrall picked up Doomhammer and began to walk away. “Sorry, couldn’t help it,” he said.


End file.
